Batman and Taxes
by zanganito
Summary: Bruce faces one of life's terrifying certainties.


**Note**: Parody is protected as fair use under copyright law.

This is just a silly fic, lol, but I hope it's amusing.

Thanks to Scorp and Kazu for help proofreading. :)

* * *

**April 11**

Bruce woke up one morning to Alfred's delicious cooking (omelets and Belgian waffles), and his son Damian glaring at him from across the breakfast table.

"Father," Damian said with a glare rarely achieved by any but the most intimidating of assassins, "you've been neglecting your duties at work, and now look what's happened." Damian threw the morning's paper across the table, whacking Bruce in the face.

_Wayne Enterprises Accountant Embezzles Millions, Then Flees the Country!_ the headline screamed. Bruce groaned and continued reading. Edward Watts, one of the employees who had been in charge of finances and reporting, had embezzled 5.6 million dollars before buying a fake ID and a plane ticket to somewhere in the Grenadines.

"What an embarrassment to the family," Damian commented. "You fight crime all night but the worst criminals are in your own company."

"Master Damian," Alfred said smartly, "it appears to be a wonderful day to battle the shrubbery. Unless," he continued as Damian scoffed, "you would prefer to use your boundless energy to scrub the kitchen floor."

Damian skulked off to find his katana before going outside to mutilate the landscape plants.

Bruce sighed and turned back to the newspaper article. "Alfred, who hired this guy?"

"You did, sir."

"Oh." Bruce sipped his coffee and considered the situation. He sometimes thought of his company as a source of income, or a cover for his Batman activities, but it was apparent he couldn't neglect his duties for too long. "Who was in charge of preparing the company taxes this year?"

"Mr. Watts was, sir." Alfred started clearing the dishes, and paused as the implications of Bruce's question sunk in. "Ah, I see. Shall I call a tax preparation company?"

Bruce clenched his hand into a fist. This was the year he started making a difference in his own company. He'd make sure they didn't fund projects that burnt down rainforests or built mines that polluted drinking water. And he was going to start by straightening out all his finances. Personally. "No need for that, Alfred. This year, I'm going to do my taxes myself."

Alfred raised a single eyebrow and turned back to his dishes. "Very well, sir."

.

Bruce wasn't just a spoiled Billionaire. He had done his own taxes one year. He fondly thought back of how he had spent the afternoon looking through forms in the library, and filling them out with a pen. (He neglected to remember Alfred patiently helping him copy and rewrite information from ink-stained forms.)

Things were even easier now. He could use online tax preparation software and file his taxes in a matter of hours. The hardest part would be getting all his company and personal statements together.

Bruce took out his cell phone to start with part one of his incredibly easy and foolproof plan. "Yes, Rhonda, if you can forward me all of Edward's documents, I'll be sorting through them and filing the taxes this year." He paused and listened to her reply. "No of course not. And I don't expect you to do all the work, you're right, that wouldn't be fair."

.

After getting all his documents together, Bruce logged onto his computer and went to the site for Turdo-Tax, and selected the most expensive option: Super Mega Deluxe. That ought to be sufficient for his needs. Bruce typed in all his personal information, the entered his first source of reportable income. An error message came up, along with a note to contact customer service.

Bruce sighed and called the customer service number. He tapped his fingers on the table while being put on hold.

Through the window in his study, Bruce could see Damian still practicing outside. With a surge of guilt he remembered that the company wasn't the only important thing in his life that he was neglecting. His own company often felt like a foreign entity, and his own son was one step away from becoming a supervillain. Bruce rubbed his forehead and wondered how he'd ever have time for it all. Maybe he should just let the Joker take over Gotham.

After listening to half an hour of annoying elevator music on the phone, Bruce finally was able to talk to a human.

"Oh yes, Mr. Wayne," Sandy from Turdo-Tax gushed after apologizing for the long wait due to "high volumes of calls", "Since you have such a high income level, you need to buy the Super Special Mega Edition of Turdo-Tax for Billionaires. We don't list it on our website since rarely anyone uses it. But it can be yours for just $1,199!"

"Sure, just-"

"But before I sell you an upgrade code, could I interest you in another of our special options for Billionaires?" Sandy asked cheerfully.

"Well, I, Uh, just need to buy the one that works." When did doing taxes online become so complicated?

"Do you have many different bank accounts, some in other countries?"

"A few." Bruce scratched his chin and hoped he could remember how many.

"I see. Then you might be interested to know that just this year we've developed the Lex Luthor Supreme Edition for Billionaires. Guaranteed to find all loopholes possible and keep your money where it belongs."

"Is that legal?" Bruce asked suspiciously. He was going to make a call to Clark next. Bruce's mood soured as he realized Clark probably had it much easier filing his taxes. He could probably use the free edition of Turdo-Tax. And he probably had Lois do his taxes for him.

Sandy laughed nervously. "Well, ok, I guess that'll be the Super Special Mega Edition for you then, sir!"

That settled it. Clark was definitely getting a call after this fiasco was done. "Yes, thank you," Bruce said as he ended the call.

.

Bruce clicked through his dependents. He couldn't claim Dick Grayson anymore. First, he was too old, second he'd be beyond annoyed if Bruce even asked. Bruce glanced out his window to see Damian hacking the bear topiary to pieces. Ah, yes, he could claim Damian as a dependent. He wondered if he could deduct money for all the destruction wreaked on a regular basis.

.

* * *

**April 12**

The next morning Bruce was still grumpily doing his taxes, and had a stack of paper to double check and make certain he had correctly entered all his sources of income. "Why did I make so much money this year?" Bruce groaned.

"What a terrible problem to have, sir," Alfred remarked as he set a breakfast tray on the edge of Bruce's desk.

Later that morning, Dick, Tim and Damian dropped in to see how Bruce was faring against his taxes. Literally. As in Dick was obnoxiously dangling from the ceiling and reading over Bruce's shoulder as he typed in his 178th 1099 form.

"You're not done yet? I already did my taxes," Dick said.

"Are you sure you're done? Last year they sent them back since you had a typo in your SSN," Tim snarked.

"I offered Alfred half my refund to do them for me," Dick admitted.

"Really? They're not that hard to do. Oh, and Bruce, you can't claim me as a dependent since I already claimed myself when I filed."

"That sounds inappropriate, Drake."

"Get your mind out of the gutter."

Bruce took in a deep breath. Ok, no Tim Drake as a dependent. He clicked back to the appropriate page and deleted the name. Well, that was a waste of fifteen minutes.

"Please go somewhere else if you're going to be distracting," Bruce growled. A message appeared on his screen, asking him if he would like to enter his interest forms the "easy way". Bruce clicked "yes" and was automatically upgraded to the Lex Luthor Supreme Edition for Billionaires.

"Argh," Bruce said. Ten calls to customer service later, Bruce found that the only way to downgrade to the Super Special Mega Edition of Turdo-Tax was to clear the form and start again. His hands tightened around the edges of the computer, and there was a snapping of plastic.

"I imagine you've worked on your taxes enough for today, sir," Alfred remarked.

Bruce grumbled under his breath and stomped off to the Batcave. It was time for something easy, like deadlifting one thousand pounds or pounding criminals into the pavement.

.

* * *

**April 13**

Bruce woke up grumpily and grumpily found another computer to work on his taxes. After three hours of retyping the information from the previous days, he accidentally clicked on the Lex Luthor upgrade package again.

Alfred paused in his pruning of the garden as he heard the crashing of shattered glass from Bruce's study as Bruce's computer flew out the window and bounced on the ground. Alfred raised an eyebrow. "Shall I purchase you another computer, Master Bruce?" he asked.

.

* * *

**April 14**

Bruce's eyes were red-rimmed after staying up all night and entering his information into the Turdo-Tax program for the third time.

"Rough night, sir?" Alfred asked as he handed Bruce a cup of coffee.

Bruce groaned. "You have no idea." It had been a mistake, a colossal mistake to think he could sort through and enter all his finances in a matter of days. There was too much, it was too confusing, and the numbers danced upon the screen as he tried to check that he'd entered all the data correctly.

"Perhaps you should take a rest, Master Bruce."

"I don't have time, Alfred." Bruce rubbed a hand across his face. "Unless you want to enter my taxes for me."

Alfred's eyes twinkled. "Well, I could always give it a try while you rest," he said.

-_2 hours later_—

The mansion was strangely quiet as Bruce lay in bed. There was no sound of cursing or ruined electronics, much to his disappointment. He felt vaguely guilty about leaving the taxes to Alfred, but on the other hand, he kind of wanted someone else to have as hard a time as he did.

"How are the taxes going, Alfred?" Bruce asked.

"I just finished them and send them off for you, Master Bruce," Alfred said as Bruce's jaw dropped low enough to accommodate a legion of army ants. "Really, with the software they have these days, it's quite easy to fill out and import all the information."

.

* * *

**April 15**

Edward Watts was enjoying a margarita in an open bar in Bequia, when suddenly a gloved batfist grabbed him from behind.

"Edward Watts," the horror from Gotham rasped. "I believe you have unfinished business in Gotham. Why don't you come with me?"

"U-unfinished business?" Edward stammered. "I was just taking a vacation, I swear!"

The masked man frowned. "You can sort that out when you go back. Besides," and his teeth flashed in a predatory smirk, "you still have a few hours left to file your taxes."


End file.
